For Richer, For Poorer
by MissTempleton
Summary: Phryne very much wishes Aunt Prudence to be happy, but can the new man on the scene possibly be as good as he looks?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

"Let GO, Daddy! I can do it MYSELF!"

"Go on, Jack, let her try."

Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was not naturally a controlling personality, but sometimes it was very, very difficult to take a step back. He glanced over at Mrs Robinson.

 _If this goes wrong, Phryne, it's on your head._

She smiled archly.

 _And it's such a lovely head, isn't it, Jack dear?_

He released his grip on the small, very wriggly eel in front of him, and took a deliberate pace backwards.

Her arms and legs flailed gamely. Her head vanished for a moment, then reappeared, eyes wide with astonishment; and within seconds she was back in his arms.

"I DID IT!" she squealed. "I SWIMMED!"

Her glee was, as ever, contagious. He grinned at her, and swung her up over his head, where she shrieked with laughter, which became louder as he tipped over backwards, dunking them both in the warm water of Aunt Prudence's swimming pool.

The pool's owner stuck her embroidery needle into the tambour frame she was holding and smiled beatifically, while Phryne snorted inelegantly at her husband's antics, pushed her sunglasses back up her nose and took another sip of her martini.

"You're very quiet, Aunt P," she remarked as, flush with her achievement, Miss Elizabeth Jane Robinson decided she could practice kicking her legs if she hung on around Daddy's neck while he swam the length of the pool; Daddy welcomed the opportunity to do some actual swimming and only occasionally had to remind her that he would need to breathe now and again, poppet, so a looser grip would be helpful.

"Am I, dear? I suppose one can't always be chattering," replied her aunt lightly.

So lightly, in fact, that Phryne glanced at her sharply, behind the cover of her sunglasses.

"You're up to something!" she said accusingly.

"Don't be ridiculous, Phryne," replied her aunt without rancour.

Phryne lowered her sunglasses again and peered at the embroidery.

"If we're talking ridiculous, I could add to the list the use of blue thread for the face of the Wyf Of Bath," she remarked sardonically. "Come on, Aunt P, 'fess up. You've been on a different planet to the rest of us for most of the afternoon. What's going on?"

Aunt Prudence took a second glance at her work and realised her niece was right. Tutting at herself, she reached for The Good Scissors, but before Phryne could press her for an answer, a uniformed maid had appeared beside them.

"You're wanted on the telephone, please, Mrs Stanley," she announced. "Major Chilton."

Aunt P dropped her embroidery altogether in her haste to get up, and her beetroot-red countenance did not escape Phryne's sharp eyes. The younger woman said nothing, though, and let her aunt scurry away, turning her attention instead to the revellers in the pool.

"Elizabeth!" she called. "It's time you came out. You'll be shrivelled up like a prune if you stay in much longer."

Elizabeth was getting hungry anyway, so she reached for the pool steps when Jack delivered her there.

"Doesn't Daddy have to come out too, Mumma?" she asked. "Doesn't he shrivel up like a prune?"

Phryne kept a straight face – just. "Not that I've ever seen, darling."

Daddy looked justifiably aggrieved at being objectified and, following his daughter out of the pool, swooped on the remains of Phryne's cocktail, smacking his lips appreciatively.

"Jack, you're dripping on me."

"Sorry," he grinned impenitently. "It must be prune juice."


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

By the time Aunt P had returned from the telephone and a subsequent visit to the kitchen, both father and daughter were dry and dressed, and making inroads into a plate of biscuits. Father had found a steamer chair in the pool house and was currently reclining on it, attempting a modicum of dignity. Daughter was balancing a biscuit on his nose, which didn't exactly help the effort.

"Anything important, Aunt Prudence?" Phryne feigned nonchalance.

Mrs Stanley feigned nonchalance right back. "No, dear, just a social call." She made a business out of collecting her embroidery together and while her face was still averted, continued on. "I wondered, though, whether you and Jack might like to come for a spot of dinner tomorrow night?"

The sleuths exchanged glances.

 _Dear God, Phryne, please, no._

 _Jack, there must be a reason she's asking!_

"I'll have to check who might be in, Aunt P – it's Mary Lou's night off tomorrow, so I might have to sort something for Elizabeth if Mr B and Soo have other plans."

"I don't know how you can be so lackadaisical with your staff, Phryne. Anyone would think you were running a holiday camp!" her aunt scolded.

"Aunt P, holiday camp employees tend not to be held up at gunpoint all that often, or be required to break and enter," observed Phryne philosophically. "Is it just us, or are you planning a party?"

"Oh, not a party, dear," said Aunt P. " _Quite_ informal. It would be just the three of us, and a friend of mine."

"Sounds lovely," said Phryne, casting a quelling look at her husband, who grumpily subsided and cheered himself up by planning a suitable forfeit for her to pay. "Anyone we know?" she added.

"I don't think so. The Major doesn't go about in society very much."

"Major?" the Inspector was interested, despite himself.

"Yes, the Fourteenth Brigade, I believe."

"How did you meet him, Aunt?" asked Phryne. How could _any_ man meet her Aunt Prudence if he didn't 'go about in society very much'?

"I'm not sure I recall," she replied mendaciously. "I've a feeling it was a silly misunderstanding over a taxi cab or some such. Yes, that was it," she warmed to the theme with some enthusiasm. "I had ordered a taxi to collect me from Lawless' and when I stepped into it, he'd already got in from the other side!"

"Hilarious!" replied Phryne with a smile that, Jack noticed, failed to reach her eyes. Really? One of the oldest tricks in the book, and Aunt P had fallen for it?

Then she looked at her aunt, colour heightened, eyes sparkling in a way Phryne hadn't seen since Uncle Edward died, and decided to hold her peace.

For the moment.

After all, it could have been the innocent mistake it appeared, and Aunt P was Enamoured.

The following evening Phryne's fears were much assuaged and she was glad she'd refrained from teasing. Ambrose Chilton was unassuming, charming and appeared genuinely interested in Prudence. He wasn't particularly tall, but still towered over her; and if he was showing a tendency to corpulence, his complexion was healthy enough. When he leaned past her to shake Jack's hand, Phryne caught a whiff of cedarwood and pipe tobacco; a comforting, homely aroma.

Oddly, it was Jack who came away from the evening with a frown.

Dinner had been delicious. Mrs Stanley was currently hanging on to an excellent cook in the face of all comers, and the joint of lamb (carved expertly by Major Chilton, which demonstrated a familiarity with the table that no-one commented upon … as such) was accompanied by crispy seasonal vegetables and followed by a soufflé that positively melted in the mouth. The conversation was wide-ranging, encompassing the popular press, the writings of Jane Austen and the music of Mozart, segueing neatly into the latest Gilbert & Sullivan offering from His Majesty's and ending, after a handbrake turn into the proper treatment of dahlias, with the completion of the Sydney Harbour Bridge.

"I actually rather like Aunt Prudence's Major," remarked Phryne as they climbed into the car. Mr Butler was at the wheel, and having greeted them, he remained politely silent. The Inspector, however, murmured mild disagreement, and that was enough to set off the Fisher Interrogation.

" _What_? What is it, Jack? He was fine. He knew all about classical literature, and his views align exactly with Aunt P's on porcelain."

Jack was still silent for a few moments, then spoke up, not to Phryne, but instead to the evening's chauffeur.

"Mr Butler, what do you know about the Fourteenth Brigade?"

"AIF, Inspector?"

"Mmm."

"Not a great deal, I confess. I think they were at Fromelles in 1916, which was a terrible battle. If he survived that, he has a charmed life, I'd say."

Jack agreed. "I'd a recollection of Fromelles as well, but not much after that."

Phryne glanced at him curiously. "You're surely not going to _investigate_ Aunt P's new beau? Jack, she's only just found him, and it's taken long enough for her to come out of her shell. Since Arthur …" she didn't finish the sentence. Dear, straitlaced, prudent Prudence had decided it was best to keep her emotions to herself, and although she'd benefited hugely from forced reminiscence on one occasion that had helped her to rebuild a stable life, she had remained resolutely alone for more than ten years.

He squeezed her hand, and said nothing – which she knew better than to take as assent, and continued to fix him with her gaze.

Eventually he sighed. "Phryne, Prudence Stanley is a wealthy woman. We both know that she hasn't had the best history of spotting fraudsters and cads."

"But to start doing background checks on a man she's only just met?" she argued. "It's lovely that you're looking out for her interests, but I still say you're overstepping the mark."

The atmosphere in the boudoir was perhaps a little chillier than usual, but when a small, delicate hand crept to find a larger, rougher one after the light had been switched off, it was grasped firmly and used to drag its owner into a comfortable embrace. Phryne sighed happily, and resolved not to chide Jack any more about his silly overreaction.

At least, that was, until Mrs Stanley turned up on the doorstep of 221B the following afternoon. Finding the lady of the house At Home, she was invited in, and offered a cup of tea.

"I think, just this once, I may need something a little stronger, Phryne dear," she declared.

"Why, Aunt Prudence, whatever is the matter? What's wrong?" asked her niece anxiously.

"Nothing at all! On the contrary, you should wish me happy."

A creeping suspicion entered Phryne's head. Surely not …

"My dear Ambrose has asked me to be his wife – and I have accepted him."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Phryne gaped. Then she recovered her poise, and called to Mr B to bring champagne, reasoning that, whatever the rights and wrongs of this astonishing development were, she had to help darling Aunt P celebrate.

In the meantime, Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was enjoying a chat with his daughter's godmother. Or, more accurately, Dr Elizabeth Macmillan was bearding him in his office and he was listening, because that was what one tended to do when Mac Wanted A Word.

"So, I need you to look into it."

Jack leaned forward and planted his forearms on his desk.

"Mac, I really can't."

"Jack, you absolutely must. What do I have to do to persuade you?"

"A grown woman fails to turn up for work for a couple of days. That's not a Missing Person, Mac. That's a bad cold."

"Muriel doesn't catch colds," replied Mac flatly.

Jack laughed. "Everyone catches colds. Even your nurses."

"She's not a nurse."

"Hang on, a minute ago you said she was?"

Mac slumped down into the chair opposite his desk. "Okay, she's doing the job of a nurse. But I happen to know that she didn't train as one."

"How on earth did she get the job then?"

Mac said nothing, and wouldn't meet his eye.

"I see." He thought he saw quite a lot.

Mac looked up under her lids and, seeing his face, sat up sharply.

"Oh, no, you don't. Nothing like that." She hesitated, and then stood and walked to the door, closing it quietly. Then returned to her seat and made herself comfortable.

"When I met her, Muriel was looking after another woman who'd been beaten up."

"By whom?"

"Whichever bloke had been the latest to take her down the nearest alley, and decided he wanted a bit more of a thrill than he'd paid for." Every hint of levity was lost. "They were whores, but the woman with Muriel was lucky, because her friend had a little bit of nursing in her background. Muriel kept that girl breathing for long enough for us to get her to hospital, and stayed with her the whole time."

Jack remained silent. There was more to this story than just a tart with a heart.

"I got talking to her. I bought her a coffee and a sandwich – she was starving. She said she was useless. Useless at everything. Couldn't even get men to pay her for sex." Mac bit her lip, swallowed, then continued.

"I asked how she'd known about keeping the airway clear, and we got talking about the war. She'd been a VAD – over visiting friends in England when the war broke out, then wanted to do her bit, but wasn't trained for anything."

"VAD?" queried Jack. "Isn't that the sort of job the society ladies did?"

"True enough. Lots of them didn't stay the course, but those that did – well, I think it made them. You've got to have some grit to go from ordering the second footman to bring another round of cucumber sandwiches to scrubbing out the sluice at two in the morning in an overcrowded, under-equipped hospital."

If anything, Jack was getting more confused. "So, this – whore – had once been a member of the upper classes?"

"It would seem so. I didn't really care, to be honest. We've never had enough help, and matron owed me a favour. Muriel had a good wash and put on a uniform, and showed that she knew how to work. Matron made sure that she was never put in a position where she'd have to do a job she wasn't trained for, and loaned her all the books."

She looked Jack directly in the eye. "I hope you're now coming to understand that, whatever the reason is for Muriel failing to show up for work, it isn't because she's broken a fingernail."

"Sorry," said the Inspector.

"So, will you look for her?"

"I'll get Collins on to it," he agreed. "Just leave us her full name and address."

"Ah."

He knew that tone of voice, and gave her a disbelieving look.

"You're surely not going to say …"

She was straightaway onto the defensive. "Jack, she was in the gutter when she came to us. You don't go asking a nurse to specify a doss-house!"

He strode to the door and, with his hand on the handle, turned back to her.

"Why on earth did you come to me with this, and not Miss Fisher?"

The doctor had the grace to look a little abashed. "I sort of thought that if I started with you, I'd get both of you, but if I started with Phryne …"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

The lady detective, meanwhile, was doing some detecting of her own.

"Isn't this all … rather sudden, Aunt P?" she asked delicately. "I mean, it can't be that long since you both got into that taxi together …"

Prudence giggled. Girlishly. Phryne winced. Inwardly. "That's exactly what Ambrose said. 'Prudence' he said, 'I can scarcely believe that it's only a few weeks since we met'. He says he has _found his soulmate_ ," she finished impressively, and stretched out her left hand once more to admire the sizeable jewel resting on the third finger.

"Gosh," was all Phryne could come up with in response to that statement. _Soulmate?_ Perhaps Jack had been right after all. She cast her mind about frantically for a way to show an acceptable level of enthusiasm. "I think you should bring him here for lunch, and let him meet the rest of the family. We have to let the poor man see what he's letting himself in for, after all," she joked weakly.

Rather to her surprise, Prudence welcomed the invitation. Her normally standoffish aunt appeared to embrace the chance to establish Ambrose in the family circle. Saturday was fixed upon, and Mr Butler instructed to hold the butcher to ransom for his most celebratory cuts.

As Phryne closed the door behind her aunt, the telephone rang. "I'll get it, Mr B," she called.

"Phryne Fisher speaking."

"Miss Fisher."

"Inspector, how nice to hear from you. It's been ages."

"Indeed. Several hours, in fact. I was hoping you might be able to stop by my office."

"Poor Jack. Are you missing me so much?"

"Desperately. I also have a job for Fisher & Williams."

"If it's the kind of job that has to be performed in your office rather than my boudoir, I'm not sure I'm interested."

"I'll make it up to you later," he promised.

"Now, _that_ interests me. See you in a jiffy."

Stopping only to collect her business partner, Miss Fisher made good time and it was barely half an hour later that she and Miss Williams presented themselves at City South. One half of the partnership perched on the corner of Jack's desk, the other positioned itself more circumspectly in the guest chair.

"What can we do for you, Inspector?" asked the desk-borne version.

"It's not for me – it's for Mac," he replied, and explained the Mystery of the Missing Nurse.

"What a very high-speed day this is becoming," remarked Phryne. "First Aunt Prudence's rapid descent into matrimony, now a two-day old missing person investigation."

" _What?_ " Dot and Jack exclaimed in chorus.

"Indeed," replied Miss Fisher darkly. "I'm starting to think we should have a closer look at the Major's credentials after all, Inspector; although it must be said that, whatever they are, they can run to a fairly spiffy emerald. Aunt P's positively giddy."

Jack sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Okay, then. If you'll go over to the hospital, Mac's waiting to show you Muriel's locker. I'll get Collins to do a little digging into Major Chilton."

"And we can rendezvous at the dinner table," finished Phryne for him. "Righty-ho. Come on, Dot dear!"

Mac was waiting outside the Women's Hospital and the concern furrowing her brow lifted a little at the sight of the Hispano-Suiza swirling to a stylish halt.

The locker, though, once broached, was a disappointment. The uniform was there, clean and neatly pressed. A couple of small brown envelopes in the foot of the locker were swiftly explained by Mac.

"Pay envelopes. She likes to be paid in cash," said the doctor succinctly.

A pair of sensible shoes stood in the foot of the locker. Dot withdrew them and subjected them to her usual knowledgeable scrutiny. "Just a pair of sensible work shoes, Miss. In good condition, though – no scuffs, and the heels are smart."

"You said she'd been a VAD?" Phryne asked Mac, who nodded. "A lady, then."

"You can always tell a lady by her shoes," agreed Dot.

Phryne was about to close the door. "Do we even have a last name, Mac?" she asked hopelessly.

"Hold on, Miss, what's that?" Dot reached to stop the door closing. The uniform was on a coat hanger, and underneath was a darker piece of fabric. She lifted it off the hangar and spread it in her fingers.

"Well spotted, Dot!" exclaimed Phryne. "What is it, a scarf or something?"

"Not a scarf," Mac interrupted. "That's a man's cravat." Sure enough, the dark fabric was of silk, with a luxuriant pattern of Paisley swirls in shades of brown and black. "And in answer to your question, Phryne, Muriel's name's Rees."

Phryne had taken the cravat from Dot's grasp, and was looking at it closely. There was something about it which tugged at her memory … but too tenuously. She sighed, gave up and replaced it on the hanger.

"We can't just go through all the Rees' in the telephone directory," she said hopelessly. "Does Muriel have any particular friends among the other nurses?"

"No," replied Mac. "She's polite, but keeps herself to herself. Partly, I think, because she doesn't want to get into discussions about what she did before she came her."

"Understandable," mused Phryne. "Oh well … there's something about that cravat that's annoying me. Maybe it will come to me and give us some sort of a lead."

She closed the locker door resolutely. "We've done all we can for now, Dot. Let's get you back to those twins of yours, and we can see how your husband got on with Major Chilton."

"Do you think he has a Murky Past, Miss?" asked Dot with interest.

"I don't know," she admitted. "Part of me wants to find that he has; but part of me just wants Aunt P to be happy."

"Well, if there's anything to find out, my Hugh will be on to it," said Dot staunchly. "And at least then you'll know one way or the other."

"Indeed, Dot," said Phryne, donning driving gloves once more. "But if it's bad news, I don't fancy being the one to break it to Aunt P."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

"There isn't one," said Jack bluntly.

"There must be," replied Phryne reasonably. "You can't tell me that in the whole AIF there isn't a single Major Chilton? Or did Hugh only check the Fourteenth Brigade?

"He and his men started there, but then went on to check the rest. All the other commissioned ranks, in case a promotion had been missed. Even the deceased records. Nothing."

"Oh."

The two sleuths stared into their bowls of soup. Each was hoping the other would volunteer to be the one to tell Prudence.

The telephone bell shattered the awkward silence and made Phryne jump. Mr Butler's voice was heard replying, and he then appeared in the dining room doorway.

"Inspector, I'm sorry. Sergeant Collins is on the telephone on a police matter. He says it's urgent."

Phryne pulled a face. "I thought that your promotion might have meant we would get to eat our meals hot, Jack?"

He pulled a wry face. "It means we could; if I chose to tell Collins not to contact me. I haven't, though – and I don't plan to." He placed a consoling hand on her shoulder as he passed on the way to the telephone. Mr Butler surveyed the table.

"Shall I put the Inspector's soup back on to warm, Ma'am?" he asked tentatively.

Phryne looked at the other bowl, and at her own; both untouched.

"Back in the pan for both bowls, but leave the heat off, Mr B," she advised. "I have a nasty suspicion I'm going to be asking you for a round of sandwiches in a minute and I don't fancy eating alone."

Mr Butler nodded his understanding and removed both plates, just as the Chief Inspector returned to the room.

"I'm sorry, Phryne," he leaned down to give her a kiss. "A body's been discovered in Alexandra Gardens. I …" but he wasn't allowed to finish the sentence.

"Jack, Mr B is cutting sandwiches as we speak. Unless you're going to attempt forcibly to prevent me, I'm coming to help your investigation at the scene of the crime." As she spoke, she was already folding her napkin and pushing back her chair. He was already trying to demur, but she took his face in her hands and gently brushed his lips with hers.

"Darling, you asked me to help you. That time in Aunt P's garden. I'm doing it now," she whispered.

He didn't fold instantly – it must have been all of five seconds before he pulled her into a hug that left her a little breathless.

"Mr B?" he called, as Mrs Robinson recovered her equanimity.

Mr Butler appeared from the kitchen, a waxed paper parcel in his hands.

"Yes, sir?" he asked innocently.

"Could you … oh. You have. Thank you," said the Inspector.

"I took the liberty of slicing the remainder of the ham from yesterday's joint," explained Mr B, "and added some cheese."

"And …?" Phryne was moved to prompt.

"And mustard pickle, ma'am," he confirmed with the tiniest of smiles. Everyone in the household knew the Inspector's preferences by now.

"Thank you, Mr Butler," she said in a voice ringing with triumph. "Would you mind bringing the Hispano round?"

Dinner in the back of a car wasn't precisely a habit she wanted to encourage, but it beat seven bells out of eating alone. When they reached Alexandra Gardens, Mr Butler departed to seek a tram ride back to St Kilda and the reasonably-sustained sleuths made their way to the corner of the gardens where flashlights and assorted paraphernalia announced the presence of the police investigation.

"Sir!" Hugh Collins hastened towards them, and provided a hasty briefing as they approached the scene. "It's a woman, sir; middle aged. Cause of death appears to be strangulation, but the coroner's on her way."

"How long has she been here, Collins?" asked Jack as they pushed through a patch of shrubbery.

"Don't really know, sir," the sergeant admitted. "Not recent, though – the body's cold. It was found by a bloke walking his dog this evening – well, found by the dog, really," he said hurriedly, struggling to marry attention to detail with the desire to shield A Lady from unpleasant truths.

"Oh, Hugh, please don't worry," Phryne brushed his words away. "You should know by now that I'm no shrinking violet."

"No, Miss," he agreed, reflecting that his Dorothy wasn't a shrinking violet either and he knew who was to blame.

By this time they were in the presence of a soberly-clad, spread-eagled corpse of a middle-aged woman. The police photographer gestured a request for them to stay back for a moment and fired off one last shot, before removing himself and his equipment from the scene.

The two sleuths crouched on either side of the body. Jack directed a flashlight on to the face, and then on to the neck where the telltale bruises were easily discovered.

"Strangulation, definitely," Phryne commented, but that was as much as she managed before a new commotion announced the arrival of the coroner.

"Mac," the Inspector called in greeting over his shoulder.

"Oh, dear God," was the response he received. Alerted, he rose to his feet and turned to face the doctor, who had grasped an overhanging tree branch for support. "Show me that face again, Inspector."

He trained the torch once more on the victim's face and neck.

"What is it, Mac?" asked Phryne urgently. "What's wrong?"

Mac covered her mouth with one hand, and whispered something unintelligible.

"What did you say?" Jack prompted.

Mac swallowed hard. "Muriel. It's Muriel," she muttered.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Mac's professionalism carried the day (or night, in this case). In some ways, Phryne thought, it was precisely because the victim was known to her that Mac did her utmost to assist the Chief Inspector in his investigation,

Her utmost, though, was precious little.

"Strangulation. By hand - well, hands. Straightforward for a strong enough person, and I'd say whoever did this was strong – either a man or an unusually strong woman. No sign of the body having been forced to the site of the murder; she went – willingly." The slightest hesitation, a possible hiccup. "Nothing else I can give you, Inspector."

Mac turned away and busied herself with her bag, and Jack and Phryne allowed her the courtesy of a moment's privacy, turning back instead to look at the body more closely.

"The shoes are right," remarked Phryne. Jack glanced up, mystified, so she expanded the point. "She was a lady, Jack. Or had been. These shoes are like the ones we found in her locker – unremarkable but well-kept." She met the Inspector's still-uncomprehending glance. "At the very least, it tells us that the person Mac knew was the person Muriel truly was."

Jack was already looking back at the body, and leaned closer to lift a hand. "Did Mac mention that Muriel was married?"

A plain gold band gleamed dully. Mac spun around, dragging a hanky across her nose. "What?" She stared at the hand the Inspector had lifted. "No. That's odd. She never wore a ring to work." Then she collected her thoughts. "Mind you, no-one wears rings. The nurses are single. When they marry, they stop working." She and Phryne exchanged a glance. "I know. But it's how it happens."

"So there was a husband in the background," mused Phryne.

"It would appear so," said Jack. "And still nothing on her to lead us to an address, or next of kin."

Phryne nodded. "If only I could place that cravat," she remarked.

"It'll come to you," Jack reassured. "For now, I suggest we go home and see if Mr Butler's prepared to reheat that soup."

The soup was excellent, but paled into insignificance beside the following day's celebratory lunch for Aunt Prudence. They had decided, for the moment, to say nothing about their investigations into the 'Major'. Aunt P was going to face a disappointment anyway, and until they knew more, neither sleuth felt inclined to rain on her parade.

Lunch, on the whole, therefore went smoothly. Mr Butler's beef _en croute_ melted in the mouth, and the Major's compliments were fulsome.

The only sour note was provided, unusually, by the youngest member of the party. Miss Elizabeth was invited to sit next to the guest of honour, and her chair loaded up with cushions to allow her to meet his eye, albeit from something of a downward angle; but after only a few minutes there, she slid from the chair and went to stand beside her mother. No amount of urging could make her return to her place, and eventually the child became fractious. It fell to Lin Soo to take her out of the room, which served very well; Elizabeth had long been quite simply in awe of the young woman, and would spend as much time in her company as was compatible with the maid's duties. Unlike the nanny, Mary Lou, Soo didn't talk down to her, but addressed her as an adult; and it was not unusual for Soo to be followed around the house by a small shadow.

Once the party moved through to the parlour for coffee, Phryne went to find her daughter, and discovered her in the garden, being shown the difference between a plant and a weed. She squatted beside the girl.

"Elizabeth, darling?"

"Yes, mumma?"

"Why didn't you want to sit next to the Major? I think Aunt Prudence was a little bit upset."

The little girl's expression became mutinous. "I don't like him."

Phryne blinked. Elizabeth liked _everyone_. She was a sociable child. This was a new and very odd departure.

"Why didn't you like him?" she asked curiously.

"He's too smiley," was the accusation of one of the smiliest toddlers in town. "And he's got stripey fingers."

Even more perplexed, Phryne looked to Soo for guidance, but the girl simply shrugged. "I am her laoshi, Miss," she apologised, "not her interpreter."

Phryne smiled at that - it was true that Elizabeth regarded Soo as a sage teacher.

She left the horticulturalists to dig in the dirt and returned to the parlour, where Jack was pouring _digestifs._ The Major opted for a brandy and Phryne took it on herself to carry it to him. She glanced at his hand as she placed the glass in it, but her recollection was accurate - the fingers were entirely monochrome.

As she turned away, her heel caught on the rug, and she overbalanced slightly. The Major jumped to steady her with his free hand, and she found herself almost caught in his embrace. Uncharacteristically flustered, she glanced down at the hand on her forearm, and started; at the same time, her intake of breath gave her a fresh flavour of the Major's pipe tobacco and cedarwood scent.

Within moments, she had recovered and, calling airily to Jack to make hers a whisky, please, strolled out to the hallway, closing the double doors behind her. She tiptoed to the telephone.

"Mac? It's me. No, I can't speak up. Listen, Mac, have they emptied that locker yet? Perfect. Don't you dare let anyone touch it. I'll be there as soon as I can!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The party broke up once the cognac was consumed, and in a triumph of diplomacy (or possibly a further demonstration of the Art of War by a certain Laoshi), the daughter of the house was induced to present the guest with a small bouquet from the garden. He smiled gamely at the child's gesture, but a heavy sneezing fit left Aunt Prudence to gather in the lilies. Phryne suspected an allergy, but kept her peace in order to move as quickly as possible to close the front door, her question and The Case.

When he heard of her planned return to the hospital, Jack demurred, but was given his own task. The 'Major' was going to be due a home visit shortly, which would mean someone getting in touch with Aunt Prudence and, by some sleight of hand, finding out the address of this enigmatic gentleman.

"Can't you pretend you want to take him for a round of golf, or something?" Phryne asked.

"I could, except that your aunt knows very well that I've never picked up a club," retorted the Inspector. "I'll tell her he left his pipe, that should suffice."

She leaned in to peck his cheek in thanks. "Lying for me, now, Chief Inspector," she observed lovingly.

"I've learned from the best in the business, Miss Fisher," he replied.

As short a time later as could be engineered by the combined expertise of Messrs Hispano and Suiza (or rather, national representatives thereof) Phryne held the cravat out to Mac and stuck it under her nose.

"It's him."

Gingerly, the doctor sniffed, and was engulfed in gentlemanly aromas.

"How …?" was all she managed.

"Mac, Muriel was wearing a wedding ring. Your goddaughter noticed that the Major had 'stripey fingers' – she meant that she'd noticed the gap in his tan where he'd been wearing a ring but had taken it off. I saw it this afternoon when he caught me as I tripped. I'm guessing that, despite everything, Muriel loved this man – so she would keep his cravat under her uniform to let her carry his scent with her when she was working."

"Women do that?" Mac asked in patent disbelief. "Even for men like him?"

"I've heard it said they'll even carry a man's child around for nine months if they really like him, Mac – not just his cologne," replied Phryne cheerfully. The doctor winced and decided not to pursue the argument. "In any case," Phryne carried on, on a more sober note, "we don't know for certain what he's done – besides impersonating a commissioned officer."

"So, we're not saying he's murdered his wife in order to be able to marry a rich woman?"

Phryne's smile twisted. "We're not saying, on the back of so-far largely circumstantial evidence, that the man murdered his once-rich wife, who may have been driven to sell her body on the streets before finding a slightly more palatable form of work as a kind of nurse, while her husband bestowed valuable gifts on another woman and asked her to marry him …no, Mac, we're not."

She replaced the cravat in the locker and straightened as she turned to face one of her oldest friends.

"We're going to let the Chief Inspector do it."

Mac reached for her hat. "In that case, I want to be there to watch."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Through (for once) no fault of his own, though, the 'Major' proved elusive. Neither he nor Mrs Stanley was available on the telephone for the rest of the day; it later turned out that he'd decided to compound the joys of lunch with a little light shopping for some more emeralds, and a slap-up dinner at the Windsor. Mrs Stanley having strong views about disturbing the household with telephone calls late at night, the Inspector wasn't able to establish the dropping-off point for the Theoretical Pipe until he took Elizabeth for her weekly meeting with her Maker (the One who wasn't himself or Mrs Robinson, that is).

Aunt Prudence, though not naturally devout, was a big believer in the social aspects of the Church, and was making it her business to educate Elizabeth in the value of Sunday Worship as a route to Better Things, or at the very least, a jolly good gossip about any of her friends who were foolish enough not to turn up. Elizabeth's actual godmother had a very different relationship with the Almighty, and things had been known to get fractious late at night over a particularly blameless corpse in the Morgue, so Mac decided to let her godmotherly duties take a different tenor.

Elizabeth liked Great Aunt Prudence, and liked Great Aunt Prudence's swimming pool even more. It therefore took only the minor bribe of a lolly to suck during the sermon and a smart new Sunday frock every so often, and she found she could manage the art of Being Bored With Dignity fairly well. There was also the prospect of lunch afterwards at Aunt P's house, which was usually light on boring healthy foods and long on jelly.

So, probably one of the oldest and certainly the youngest members of the Cathedral congregation could generally be seen gracing Swanston Street on a Sunday morning. Jack having taken his daughter to meet Aunt P, was able to extract an address; and by dint of arriving only a couple of minutes before the service was due to start, didn't even have to lie too much about his reason for wanting it; which, given the day and the location, was just as well.

(Bolts of lightning could often be an inconvenience in the course of an investigation, and for some reason, Melbourne was well served for storms.)

From the outside, the Toorak house was everything that a lady's heart could wish. A manicured lawn bespoke an assiduous gardener, and the paintwork and brass of the house shone. As Jack, Phryne and Mac (who'd threatened to hold Phryne hostage unless she was allowed to come along) descended from the Hispano, they looked at one another.

"You're telling me _Muriel_ lived here?" whispered Mac.

"We'll soon find out," said Phryne, and placed a firm finger on the bell.

Silence. Then, just as she was lifting her hand for another try, scurrying feet were heard, and a woman in a smart, black uniform with the bunch of keys hanging from her waist which bespoke her role as housekeeper, snatched open the door. When she saw them, her heightened colour vanished and she held one hand to her breast in shock. Then she recovered her composure enough to stand back and let them in to the hallway.

Jack introduced them, and asked for the Major.

"Not at home, Inspector, I'm sorry." And bluntly, in response to the follow-up, "I've no idea when he might be back."

"You thought we'd be someone else," stated Phryne in a quiet voice.

The woman looked at her blankly, then shrugged. "I hoped … I thought the mistress might have forgotten her key."

"I'm sorry," said Jack, "you are Mrs …?"

"Richmond, sir."

"Mrs Richmond, can I ask when you last saw your mistress?"

"Not since Monday, sir," came the answer, "though I didn't always catch her because she …"

There was a hesitation.

"She worked nights," Mac completed the phrase, and received a startled glance in return. "Is there a photograph of her somewhere that you could let us see?"

The woman started to nod, but then halted, perplexed. Phryne thought she might know why. "Perhaps an old album? In a drawer?" she suggested.

The woman bit her lip, nodded and led them to the back of the house, where a small parlour was already losing its sight of the morning sun. The curtains here were threadbare, and the only furnishings were a sewing table with two chairs, and a shabby dresser.

It was to the dresser the woman moved, and pulled out one of the drawers, laying hands unerringly on a leather-bound photograph album. She placed it on the table, and the three others crowded round her, to see the album opened at a page of a solemn-faced lady and a gentleman whose face they could all recognise.

"Mac?" asked Jack, and the doctor nodded, and pointed to the woman.

"That's Muriel Rees."

"Rees was her maiden name," corrected Mrs Richmond. "That's Mrs Chilton."

"Then I'm sorry, but I have some bad news," said Jack, and drew a chair out to let the housekeeper sit down, although her pallor suggested she'd already guessed.

"She's not …"

"I'm afraid Mrs Chilton is dead," confirmed Jack.

"How?" was the whisper.

"She was strangled." Phryne decided to lend a hand with the unpleasant task Jack faced. "And we think we know by whom, Mrs Richmond, but we're rather hoping you might be able to help us understand why."

The woman had a handkerchief in her hand, and brushed away a tear as she traced the outline of the bride's face with her finger. Then she looked up and around at their faces and shut the album with a resolute slap. Placing it back in the drawer, she turned to them all.

"Oh, I think I can do that. Follow me!"

She led the way to the kitchen and, reaching for the chatelaine at her waist, selected a small key to unlock a high cupboard, from which she took out a bottle of what Phryne saw was a really very respectable sherry.

The woman saw her looking and sniffed. "About the only thing of any value that's left in this place," was all she said. "Especially with the mistress gone …" her voice cracked a little, but she poured four glasses and tossed one off without waiting for the others to take theirs.

"The Major …?" prompted Jack.

"He's no more a Major than I'm the Mayor of Melbourne," announced the woman. "Didn't fight in the War at all. He claimed he'd a weak heart, but you could have stuffed a quilt with the number of white feathers he got."

She slumped into a chair and poured a second glass; they seated themselves around her and toyed with their first. "He's a good-for-nothing. Well, nothing but spending money. The best tailors, fine wines, expensive gifts for his friends – especially his lady friends."

Phryne thought of Aunt Prudence's emerald and winced inwardly.

Mrs Richmond continued. "I thought that Miss Rees would be the making of him. She'd her own fortune, so it didn't matter that he had spent his. The wedding day was lovely. Everything of the best. She'd only her father left then – God rest his soul, he passed on not six months after – but he sent her off in fine style. Brussels lace, French champagne …" her eyes glazed over for a moment at the memory.

"So, there was plenty of money then?" asked Jack.

"Then? Yes. But the master ran through it like water. As long as we were keeping up appearances, he didn't care." Her expression darkened. "Then mistress couldn't pay the butcher's bill, and when she was standing arguing with the man on the doorstep, up comes the tailor with five new suits for the master. _Five!_ " she exclaimed. "They had a real big fight that night, and he stormed out and didn't come home till morning, and she went upstairs and cried. Fair broke my heart to hear the poor soul."

She was silent for a moment. "The next night she went out late and didn't come home till morning. And the next."

No-one saw the need to explain what had been happening.

"Then the day came when she was even later, and I was worried, but just before lunch she turned up again and had a bit of the old sparkle in her eye. She still had to go out at odd hours, but she said she was at the Women's Hospital, and I believed her, because she was – I don't know, standing straighter and looking herself in the eye."

Mac was swallowing hard and her eyes were red; Phryne grasped her hand and squeezed it tightly.

"Was Mr Chilton," Jack had already found the military title left a bad taste in his mouth, "here on the day Mrs Chilton disappeared?"

"No. Came home at breakfast time on Tuesday, was the first time I saw him."

Mac whispered, "She worked a night shift on Monday night. Finished at six."

Jack stood up. "I've heard enough. Miss Fisher, I want to get over to your Aunt's house and break the news to her. Mrs Richmond," he produced a card, "please telephone this number as soon as you can when Mr Chilton reappears."

He led the way to the front hall, and stopped short. The front door was wide open.

"Hang on, that wasn't …" he started, as the rest bundled into the hall behind him. Phryne was the first to recover, and sprinted past him to see a car departing down the driveway at high speed. She turned to leap into the driving seat of the Hispano, but halted when she saw the bonnet raised. Stifling a curse, she went to examine the engine, then turned to face the party assembled on the front steps of the house.

"Mrs Richmond, we seem to be lacking a distributor cap. Does the house by any chance have a car we can borrow?"

"Sorry, Miss," the woman replied. "That was it that just left."

The sleuths' glances met.

"Jack, telephone. Get Bert and Cec here with the taxi, but first, for goodness' sake, warn Aunt P that she may be about to receive an unwelcome visitor – and try to get her to understand that he really _is_ unwelcome!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The telephone at the Stanley house rang out several times before Aunt P remembered that the reason they were eating a cold collation was that the staff were having an afternoon off. Tutting mildly, she rose to her feet and bustled to the hallway.

"Hello? Are you there?" Prudence had never really trusted the telephone, though her distrust was more of a scientific than superstitious nature – she had never worried that she'd be struck down by a flame from the earth's core, a fear that still haunted Dot. "Inspector, hello. We're in the middle of luncheon," she said testily. "Can't it wait? Oh."

To give her her due, once Aunt P had decided you were the Right Sort of person, the decision remained unassailable; and the man who'd rescued her scandalous niece from social ruin (a phrase that made Phryne roll her eyes and Jack bite his cheek) _and_ helpedprovide a beautiful great-niece would have had to struggle to put a foot wrong.

(Jack being a Chief Inspector these days didn't hurt, either. Aunt P had Deputy Chief Commissioner in her sights for him, or her name wasn't Prudence Stanley).

It took all her fortitude to get through the next few minutes, though. With time not on his side, Jack was succinct, which meant Brutal.

Aunt P's side of the conversation continued to consist (apart from a single instance each of 'how' and 'when') of the word Oh. It took many forms. There was the interested one, when news was shared about her Intended; then the sceptical one when she heard the case against the accused. Then the rather quiet one when she heard the evidence. Then the abrupt one when she heard about the Motive. The next three were in a steadily rising crescendo as the fact that this out-and-out _cad_ apparently had the _temerity_ to run to her after he'd been found out. After, in the end, nine or ten "oh"s, she thanked the Inspector politely, assured him that she and Elizabeth would be able to handle the situation perfectly well until they got there, and that they shouldn't feel the need to hurry because she wanted to make sure Mr Chilton had heard absolutely everything she currently felt the need to communicate to him.

He would be hearing about himself; about his conduct; about his presumption; about his morals; about his treatment of the Fairer Sex; and just as she was getting warmed up on the subject, the Inspector interrupted as politely as possible to ask that he be allowed to telephone for Mr Johnson and Mr Yates.

She graciously allowed him to do so, and then turned to her great-niece, who had trundled after her out into the hall and was now experimenting with the hem of her dress and looking up at Aunt P enquiringly.

"Come, Elizabeth!" commanded Prudence firmly. "We have work to do! Now, where is the step-ladder kept?" she finished pensively, setting course for the kitchen.

Fortunately, the step-ladder, as well as the various other accoutrements Mr Chilton's Nemesis decided she might need were exactly where they were supposed to be. After a moment's thought, the back door was left a little ajar, and the rest of the downstairs doors and windows secured. With only one or two other preparations, Elizabeth and Aunt P retreated to the first floor, just in time to hear the sound of an approaching vehicle.

A minute later, the doorbell rang. Prudence placed a finger over her lips for hush, and Elizabeth covered her giggle with her hand.

The doorbell sounded again. Then a voice was raised.

"Prudence? Prudence, darling? Are you there?"

Impatient pacing back and forth on the gravel was heard, at which point Prudence threw up the sash window and leaned out.

"Who is it?" she asked disingenuously.

He took a couple of steps back. "There you are!" he called with relief. "Do come down, dear."

"I'm afraid I can't," she said firmly. "Let me send you something else down instead."

She judged the angle carefully, and managed to cover her unsuspecting inamorata with three-day old water from the flower vase on the upstairs landing. Her young lieutenant helpfully held the associated flowers in her small fist.

" _Prudence!_ "

Never had the word been uttered with such venom or – let's face it – imprudence.

The Gloves were Off. Muttering, the victim scooted an ineffectual hand across his sodden and stinking brow and shoulders and tried the front door. Finding it secured, he set off around the building trying every door and window he came across. There were many such, and his fury built with every failure.

By the time he'd reached the kitchen door, he was incandescent, and contemplating breaking a window; but he saw at a glance the very slight gap that showed this opening had been missed. His Prudence was, of course, too genteel to have thought of venturing to the kitchens.

There was still a hint of caution as he peered through the glass, but the room was deserted. Quelling his feeling of triumph, he pushed the door open.

The tin bucket balanced on top of it hurt his head considerably when it landed; the flour it contained hurt his ego considerably more.

Once a Warley girl, always a Warley girl.

With a roar of anger, he stumbled through the kitchens and on to the hallway, where the stairs would lead him to his quarry.

He was so intent on the stairs that he didn't spot the shine on the wood at their foot, and with both feet landing almost simultaneously in a slick of treacle, it was hardly surprising that the first part of his body with which the stairs came into contact was – his nose.

He was, nonetheless, surprised; and it took a few minutes, and the application of some crisp linen to his bloodied proboscis, and the odd groan, before he could summon the impetus to continue his soggy, sticky progress up the stairs.

When he got to the top, he turned immediately for the guest room above the front door, and he was rewarded by the sight in its doorway of a small child with bright green eyes under a neat black bob gazing at him solemnly. She had her thumb in her mouth and was sucking it.

"Hello … Elizabeth, isn't it?"

She carried on sucking her thumb.

"How long have you been there?"

She stopped sucking her thumb, took it out and held it up to him. It was shrivelled up. Rather like a prune.

Quite a long time, then. She had something behind her back, and he felt, suddenly, unaccountably nervous.

"What do you have there, Elizabeth?" He edged towards her. Prudence was in that room, he was sure; and where Prudence was, there was money.

The child tipped her head, as though debating a question; then pulled out her weapon, brandishing it threateningly under his nose.

As every horticulturalist knows, some allergies just can't face blooming tigerlilies.

Chilton's eyes stung, and he began sneezing uncontrollably. Thus rendered temporarily incapacitated, he was scarcely aware of the approaching blow, delivered by Prudence Stanley with the third best lampstand to his head as he collapsed in a heap on the floor. He was still there when Detective Chief Inspector Robinson and the Honourable Phryne Fisher turned up a few minutes later.

Mr and Mrs Robinson knew they should probably whisk their daughter away from such a dubious presence, but neither quite had the heart to ask Aunt P to release the hand of her Second In Command who had performed such sterling work. Furthermore, it meant that Elizabeth was there to hear a very important statement, spat out as soon as the handcuffed prisoner had come round from his stupor.

"No-one – least of all a worm like you, Ambrose – will ever be permitted to make Mrs Edward Stanley look a fool."


	10. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"It's funny, when you think about it."

Sunday was, they had belatedly recalled, a day of rest; and so it was a thoroughly rested Jack Robinson who lay on his back, propped up on a bank of soft pillows, with a delicious lady detective regarding him solemnly, chin on her hands which were linked on his chest. The index finger of his left hand traced a treble clef between her shoulder blades.

"What is?" she asked, flexing her shoulders, cat-like, in response to his touch.

"Well – there's your poor Aunt Prudence, ready to marry again and landing on what was possibly the most unsuitable candidate for the role in the entire city …"

"Unless you're going to include Father O' Leary, it's hard to argue," she agreed. "And …?"

"Well, there's you." He glanced at her under his lashes and wondered if it was wise to continue.

"Me?"

He realised it was too late to draw back and forged bravely on.

"You were quite clear, when we first met. Marriage wasn't for you. And I seem to recall that somewhere on the way to Ballarat, you stated categorically that you don't 'do' children."

She raised an eyebrow. "And yet, here we are."

"Here, as you say, we are."

"You have to allow, then, Jack, that at least I can never be called predictable."

He laughed, which made her chin bump her hands as his chest convulsed beneath them.

"No, Miss Fisher, no-one will ever accuse you of that." Then he was silent for a moment.

She watched him steadily, and waited. The question didn't come, but she could feel it hovering in the air, and decided to answer it anyway.

"No, I don't."

He thought of pretending he didn't know what she meant, and realised there was no point. She knew him better than that.

"You don't regret 'having sworn truth, ever to be true'?" he paraphrased Shakespeare instead. "I'm not saying you would ever go back on your word. It's one of the reasons I love you," (picking up a hand, kissing it and placing it carefully back on his chest where he'd found it). "You take the cards you're dealt and produce a Royal Flush. But … it can't be the life you envisaged."

She thought about that.

"No. No, it isn't – although I think I'd have been hard pressed to tell you what sort of life I _had_ envisaged."

"More lovers, presumably?" he suggested.

She examined his expression and wondered if he'd been taking lessons on Inscrutability from Lin Chung.

"Perhaps," she said calmly. "Though even the most luxuriant buffet can pall if there isn't …" she hunted for the right metaphor.

"… a good steak now and again?" he deadpanned.

She raised an eyebrow. "Careful. I may start calling you Angus."

"I think I'd prefer Him Indoors."

"You hate being called Him Indoors."

"Precisely." Then he lifted a hand to brush a lock of her hair from her cheek. "Do you ever think about what you'd like to be, Phryne?"

"Can't I just be what I am?" she chided. She couldn't say why, but she was uncomfortable with the way this conversation was going.

"You know that isn't what I mean."

She considered for a moment, and sighed. "Oh, Jack. I'm a chameleon. I can be a different person depending where I find myself." She looked up at him and grinned mischievously. "One of these days, I'm going to be someone you won't recognise. Probably in a good way, but …possibly not."

A thought struck her. "I think Elizabeth will recognise me, though. Have you noticed how good at faces she is?"

"She's two," he objected. "How can she be good at faces? All right, all right," he held up his hands in surrender as she knelt up to remonstrate with him.

As angry goddesses went, she wasn't half bad. And now she was smiling wickedly. "I can tell you what I want to be right now, though, Jack."

"What?" he asked cautiously.

" _Ravished_."

Despite his new-found seniority, Detective Chief Inspector Robinson was still prepared to obey an order. Now and again.


End file.
